Long Garment Poems
Long Garment Poems. Below are the most popular long Garment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Garment poems by poem length and keyword.
They said the enemy was among us—
that the neighbor’s prayer,
the shade of his skin,
the bend of her tongue
were signs of danger.
And we, trembling and tired,
believed them,
for fear is an easy garment to wear
when stitched by the powerful.
So we built fences where laughter once stood,
we spat on names older than memory,
we burned the bridges that once
carried our mothers to market.
Our hands, red with work,
turned red with rage,
and we called it righteousness.
We mistook the smoke for light.
In the towers above,
they raised glasses to our confusion—
sold us new gods in advertisements,
sold us new devils on the evening news.
Their words like coins tossed in the dust:
"Protect what’s yours."
And we did,
until nothing was ours anymore.
The earth grew quieter then.
The songs faded from the markets,
the streets echoed
with the hiss of suspicion.
Even the stars,
those old witnesses,
seemed to dim—
ashamed to see us
draw knives from our flags.
And one morning,
as the wind carried the smell
of the ruins we made,
we saw their faces—
the ones we had cursed—
and they looked like us.
The same hunger,
the same trembling hope,
the same tired eyes asking,
“Who taught us this?”
Now we sweep the ashes,
learning again to speak gently.
We water the soil with apology,
plant seeds named understanding,
wait for forgiveness to grow.
The powerful still whisper,
but some of us have learned
to close our ears—
to remember how easily
a spark becomes a sermon,
how quickly love
can forget its own name.
It's time to relate a story
About a wee man and his kilt,
How he obtained this garment
Made out of tartan quilt...
He was born in a leprechaun village.
He grew much taller than the rest.
His leprechaun IQ was a dram too short
But his highland fling was the best!
None of his peers could fathom it out.
Why was he so different to them?
So he queried his parents about their descent
And all began to make sense then.
His father was ginger and Irish.
His mother was Scottish and tanned.
They tossed a caber to make their choice
And it fell to a move to Ireland.
And so the wee man could now understand
Why his colours were orange and green.
The kilt that he wore, which he much adored
Blended well with his rural scene.
His kilt was designed and handmade
By his auntie, a well skilled seamstress.
Tartan is the pattern she tailors most to
For blazers, kilts, trousers and dress.
This wee man has had lots of fun.
On occasion some foodstuffs were spilt
(Baked beans, soup, cocoa and milk)
Down the front of his special kilt.
When his parents were gone, he carried them on.
Where would he live in their memory?
He couldn't choose between the two
So moved to Wales and close to the sea.
In the garment of loyalty, once I whispered,
But every love, in time, was restrained.
Happiness, a relic hunted in vain,
In the quest for meaning, life turned bitter.
To be normal, an illusion that dissipates,
Certain of what I did not want, but unsure of what I crave.
Fate's taste for troubles, deep and unending,
A journey through shadows, secrets hidden at dusk.
The uncertainty of interests, a dance of enigmas,
Life embraced, as if under an incantation.
God or illusion, the choice shrouded in mist,
In the face of death, without fear, only hope.
When and how, only shadows know,
Intertwined motives, reasons to flow.
In the abysses of consciousness, the murmur of the night dances,
A tapestry of pains, guarded in the voice's silence.
In forests of mystery, among contemplative stars,
My soul hides, alone, dreamy, and fearful.
Past and present, in a continuous stream entwine,
The thoughts of my life, in an endless dream revolve.
A river of memories, in the depths unexplored by desire,
My lost love, in the haze of a consciousness dream.
In the mystic night, shadows dance,
Reflecting fragile dreams, baptized in their waltz.
An emerald continuum, through oceans of melancholy,
My lost love, calling in absence and solitude.
The whispers of time, like an ancient wind,
Caress the wounds, in a therapeutic dance.
In the face of the unknown, I lose myself in reflection,
Questioning the meaning, in the whirlpools of eternity.
This is destiny, in the mysterious flow of my consciousness,
A journey through galaxies of dreams, in heavy cosmic robes.
In the ruins of hope, I find fragments of escaped truth,
My eternal love, like a fire comet through the universe escapes.
the last light
slips along the seam
where fabric remembers
every pull
every strain—
a narrow glint
catching
the single stitch
that kept
the whole
from opening
into ruin
not heroic
only persistent
a small
insistence
of thread
holding
what wanted
to come apart
I watch
how dusk
withdraws
from the garment’s edge
leaving behind
a faint
amber residue
of labor
no one noticed
the stitch
is nothing
remarkable—
a mismatched
length of cotton
pulled through
hurriedly
years ago
yet last light
pauses
on that place
as if naming
the fracture
that became
the strongest
part
perhaps we are not meant
to stay seamless—
only
luminous
where we were
once torn
each mend
a narrow window
through which
something
unutterable
enters
I gather
no answers
only the scattered
weather
of who I was—
a thread
of silence
a little ash
of longing
a faint
afterglow
of voices
I can no longer
hold
yet beyond
obvious
sorrow
a sympathetic
spirit
sways
in the fabric—
not hope
exactly
but ancient
instinct
of a stitch
that has outlived
its garment
and yet
keeps binding
through
darkness
I woke
with dust
of old selves
still silvering
my lungs—
fine threads
where my heart
had once
fastened
its small
lantern
I opened
my eyes—
nothing
miraculous
only pale
machinery
of morning
turning
& inside me
a thread
catching
on that same
sentence—
the one
that held
everything
together
The City Is a Garment
by Michael R. Burch
A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,—
the city is a garment stretched so thin
her festive colors bleed into the night,
and everywhere bright seams, unraveling,
cascade their brilliant contents out like coins
on motorways and esplanades; bead cars
come tumbling down long highways; at her groin
a railtrack like a zipper flashes sparks;
her hills are haired with brush like cashmere wool
and from their cleavage winking lights enlarge
and travel, slender fingers ... softly pull
themselves into the semblance of a barge.
When night becomes too chill, she softly dons
great overcoats of warmest-colored dawn.
Originally published by The Lyric
October 12 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on John 19-20
Key Verse – John 19:11 Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY POWERFUL DELIVERER
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always upholding me with Your hand
Thank You for Your assurance of salvation whereupon my soul does stand
Against unbelief bearing doubts marked by accusing demand---
Here am l grateful for Your Gospel of compassion brand.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always releasing me from guilt’s judgment
Thank You for Your testament that anchors my redemption-settlement
Against sins and iniquities causing hell’s punishment---
Here am I adorned with Your forgiveness-garment.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always guarding me as Your disciple
Thank You for Your Bible truth of life-building principle
Against unrighteousness causing my ministry involvement to cripple---
Here am I upheld by Your foundation no one can topple.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always healing me in my brokenness
Thank You for Your invitation for me to come to Your throne of graciousness
Against hopelessness-pain and piercing restlessness---
Here am I beseeching You with prayerful steadfastness.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always loving me so dearly
Thank You for Your compassion that makes me approach You sincerely
Against hatred, deceit, pride, hypocrisy and lies lurking secretly---
Here am I repentant while approaching You humbly and meekly.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always enclosing me with Your care
Thank You for Your sanctification with Your mercy’s nurturing welfare
Against anxiety and misery that cause grievous affair---
Here am I yielded to You midst the Holy Ghost’s protective stare.
Lord God, You are my powerful Deliverer,
always reaching to me for my faith’s strengthening
Thank You for Your truths I keep on gaining while learning
Against falsities and follies that bring wisdom-staining---
Here am I worshipful while my character You are refining.
The earth is still with winter frost,
The forest shines with snow embossed,
The rocks now snowed had once been mossed,
The clouds all move their snow exhaust.
The trees arrayed in garment white,
A velvet blackness falls with night,
The stars all glow with silver light,
As shining diamonds piled bright.
The wind, a thief steals clouded breath,
The snow burns white, as cold as death,
It's icy blast breaches with eath,
A biting reign, its shibboleth.
The frost filed crystals, clear as ice,
The grip of hoarfrost like a vice
A rush of cold wind; frank, concise,
A winter wonder paradise.
Form:
TOUCHING THE HEM OF BEAUTY SEE
Beauty of a beautiful brunette
Brings me back to a brittle moods
Bright eye, eye bouncing
Along a blind alley
I counted the moon that rises
As the farthest of galaxy, making me to
Dawdle to talking broach of a royal bird that struck
My heart pendulous
Thus daunting the processing of my dating agent
Still in my brittle mood
The mood that moves
Pure as the starting glory of the day break
Singing the chorus of the dawn
Her winding air are numbered
Piercing my inner mood
With the thought as Damocles
I filled, head over heels, with love
With her vibrating self
Whereas her head dress head casing
The head hunter which all coming to touch the hem
Of her flowing garment that heals the lovesick
Another day, i saw her
In a close lane
I saw her, keeping her head down
In all her all attractive elegance...
So i planned my request
The muted discuss that reincarnate in thought
My deep shy feelings was en covered
Giving me much words that woos.
Her chopsticks are at the ready.
Her hands are good and steady.
She likes to knit her noodles!
The task has just begun...
She starts off with a mango Welt
With pride, with zest, with tang.
It's a mesmerising watch
While the wiggling noodles hang.
Next. She's on to saucy Stocking Stitch.
Her garment sure does grow!
Knit one - Purl one - Knit two together
On each tasty row.
And this main course is called
" Knit Purl Chopstick Cha "
With a curry Cabled centre,
With sides of paprika Purl and Knit korma.
And as an extra tasty treat
BBQ Rib Raglan is on the menu.
Trust me! This kind of cuisine
Can't be found in any old venue!
From there on, the sleeves do drop
Like the soy sauce shaken a top.
Neatly Knitted are the Ribs.
Who voted for fish and chips?
To finish this fine course...
Knit - Slip - Knit - Pass Slip Stitch over.
This will make the button holes
For the chocolate to melt all over.
And on completion, these knitted noodles
Slide straight on down her throat...
Before we've had a chance to prove her skill
This talent to others gloat!
speak out
be bold
don't panic
or even fear
to stand up
for your right
be brave
wear the garment
of truth
so let the world
hear you
as you
speak out
speak out
the world is
nothing
with out words
the generation
of today
aches for truth
but swims in
illusion
no human is
born to be
a victim
yet we are
all victimized
by fear one
way or the other
in a wild world
of no humanity
speak out
pour out your
mind
cast out the heavy
stone in the heart
let the world
feel you
you are the
a citizen of
the world
so in all your
circumstances
in all you see
and feel
not good
speak out
speak out
we have pass
through a lot
till date
we have suffered
from generation
to generation
we have been
victimized by
all kinds of
brutality
home and abroad
are we going
to continue
like this I keep
asking Africans
are we born to
be victim with
a mark of low
IQ
is that what we
stand for
in this world
so who ever
you are as
an African
were ever you
are from
enough should
be enough
if not
speak out